


Scrubbing a Rug

by ghostlyfemslash



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Boarding School AU, F/F, Fluff, Romance, history tutor au, nonverbal ms. paint au, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6207805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlyfemslash/pseuds/ghostlyfemslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her roommate partied away all night, Ms. Paint has been left to clean up the nasty totally-not-wine stain said roommate left on the rug. As if this weren't enough, bubbly second year student Calliope shows up, putting Ms. Paint in a stickier situation than she had intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scrubbing a Rug

_Only one more year,_ you think as you scrub the rug that your roommate very politely spilled some dark liquid on. You love your roommate, but she has an awful tendency to get far too intoxicated with her friends on Friday nights. And of course, she loves to bring boys from your brother school into your room to play cards and blast jazz music, earning you both a bad reputation in your hallway. The spill on your rug is the result of one of these delightful little in-room parties, and of course she’s too hungover to wash the rug. Worse yet, it’s your rug that she went and spilled on, not even her own. 

As you sit in the laundry room, fuming over the amount of time you’ve wasted on this damn stain, you hear a bell-like voice begin to float around the hall outside. The voice in question belongs to Calliope, the second year student you’ve been tutoring in History. Of all the students you’ve tutored, Calliope is by far the most intriguing. This is not because of her tendency to wear wigs on school grounds, nor the detailed stories she manages to come up with in a matter of seconds, nor even the way her green eyes seem to glow while she speaks. Rather, it is the fact that she comes to your weekly tutoring sessions five minutes early and stays five minutes late- despite seeming to know history better than any textbook. 

A shiver runs down your spine as her footsteps approach. The song she’s singing gets louder, and you realise that it’s the lower harmony to _Dome Epais._ You remember telling her how it was your favourite piece at the choir concert last month and the left corner of your mouth perks up despite your rather ruffled state. You hunch over your work, hoping that she won’t notice you. That and the giant soaked spot on the front of your shirt. 

“Ms. Paint!” Calliope yells, running into the laundry room. _So much for being discreet,_ you think. You regain your posture, drop the rug to free up your hands, and smile broadly at her. 

“Really, Calliope, you can use my first name. We’ve known each other long enough,” you sign to her. Calliope giggles. Her laugh sounds like windchimes. 

“I don’t call my teachers by their first name, Ms. Paint,” she says, “and I respect you twice as much as I respect them!” You smile and crinkle your eyes, hoping the obvious blush on your face passes off as natural glow. You consider scolding her, but in all honesty you find her habit of referring to you by your surname adorable. 

“Well, Calliope, what leads you to the laundry room of upperclassmen housing? Are you looking for something?” 

“Yes!” she exclaims. “I’m looking for you, actually!” You hope she doesn’t notice the hitch in your breath. You certainly do. “I originally went to your room, but Snowman told me that you were actually here, so I came over.” _Ah,_ you think, _so my roommate is awake. How lovely of her to stay in bed._ “I hope you don’t mind, but I was wondering why you didn’t show up to tutoring last week. Were you sick?” 

Again, that telltale hitch in your breath. What could you possibly tell this girl? That you had heard some Callie’s friends gossiping about her “major upperclassman crush?” That you couldn’t find the right words to say on the matter? That you still feel guilty for assuming it was you? Your mind races as you try to find an excuse, any excuse. 

Thankfully, she interrupts your thought process just in time. “Wait, what are you doing with that rug? Is it yours?” Feeling your throat begin to close up with nervousness, you nod. “Where did that stain come from? Did you spill something?” You shake your head. “Then what happened?” 

By some miracle, you manage to sign out, “Snowman.” 

Callie gasps. “You mean your own roommate spilled on your rug and is making you clean it up?” she shouts. You hope that Snowman can’t hear Callie from the laundry room. As kind as the girl is, she sometimes gets a little louder than you’d like her to. Callie continues, “that’s just unfair!” She takes one of your hands from the sink, not even noticing that one of her sleeve cuffs was now sopping wet. But you notice. In fact, you notice everything about her hand. It’s softer than you could have imagined. Her palm is more dainty than yours, and much smaller, but her slender piano fingers more than make up the difference. It could be due to the fact that you’ve been scrubbing a rug under cold water for the past fifteen minutes, but her hand is also warmer than you expected. Without thinking, you let your own fingers wrap around hers. 

“Here, let me help you!” she says, bringing you back into reality. She then pushes you aside so that you’re both sharing the sink. Before you can fully process it, she has rolled up her sleeves and joined in on the stain cleaning process. She’s awfully determined, digging her knuckles into the stain and kneading methodically. You quietly return to your work, adding soap to the watery mix whenever she runs out. 

You brush the soap bubbles off of your hands. “Calliope, about the tutoring...” you begin to sign. The nervous tension returns to hands and fingers. She looks up at you and smiles. You fight through your nerves and continue, “we can pick up where we left off after we finish getting this stain out. In fact, would you like to meet up at the cafe downtown? It will be my treat.” 

The familiar glow in her bright, beautiful eyes returns, the same glow that’s present in every story she tells. “Sure! Gladly! That sounds cool!” she responds. Now she seems to be the one blushing. You grin at her and she returns the gesture. When the both of you return to your work, you let your hand linger against hers a little longer than normal. He knuckles press back ever so slightly. _Geez,_ you think, _only one more year..._


End file.
